On Your Mark
by Lopsided Whiskey Grin
Summary: While hunting in the Georgian woodlands, Daryl Dixon finds a little more than he bargained for. Story takes place before Daryl is introduced in the Walking Dead series. Rated M for language.
1. Chapter 1

_Greetings! This is my first attempt at a fanfic, hope ya'll enjoy! This story takes place before Daryl's introduction on AMC's Walking Dead series._

_The Walking Dead is property of its respective owners. I own my OC Afton._

Daryl Dixon crouched in the humid Georgia heat behind a small copse of scrub brush, and pushing a few strands of sandy brown hair out of his eyes, peered into the clearing before him. The long, lean legs he had been following for two days and 25 miles finally walked into view.

Steadying his crossbow in both hands, Daryl set his sights on a buck big enough to feed the camp for weeks. The deer, completely, blissfully oblivious, bent his head to graze on the grasses at his feet. Drawing a steadying breath and absently swiping at a bead of sweat rolling down his cheek, Daryl fingered the trigger of his weapon, already loaded with an arrow.

A twig snapped to his left, startling the buck and Daryl both. 'Dinner' jerked his head up and was gone in a flash of white tail.

"Fuck!" Daryl spat.

If one of those Walkers was responsible for this, they were gonna pay. Resettling his quiver over his left shoulder, Daryl turned to investigate the intrusion. He crept silently up to the thick trunk of an oak tree and looked around. A man in a ripped flannel shirt and dirty Levi's stood staring blank-eyed and slack-jawed (what was left of his jaw anyway) at the forest floor. Daryl followed the Walker's gaze to a toad hopping across dead leaves and sticks on the ground.

Noiselessly, Daryl readied his bow for the second time that day.

"Like shootin' fish in a barrel," he drawled under his breath.

And just as he was about to squeeze the trigger, a blur flashed through his field of vision to his right. As fast as another "fuck" fell from his lips, an arrow embedded itself between the glassy eyes of the Walker directly in front of him. Daryl flattened himself against the tree trunk, feeling the rough bark scrape his palms, and looked toward where the arrow had flown.

The leaves of a bush shuddered and Daryl's eyes widened slightly as a woman stole hesitantly from behind the branches. She looked lean and agile in a pair of faded jeans and an Atlanta Falcons t-shirt stretched tight across her chest. Her raven black hair was pulled away from her face into a ponytail, and in her braced left arm she held a compound bow. Daryl's mouth went dry at the sight of her.

He watched as the woman stepped to the now still Walker and, grasping her pink and black-feathered arrow, tugged it free. He moved behind the tree again as the woman straightened from her kill.

"No use hiding, cowboy. I already saw you there before I tagged this guy," The woman's smooth voice startled him, but he came out from behind the oak to see her wiping the arrow tip on a handful of leaves.

"Not too bad of a shot there, darlin'." Daryl walked to her with a hand extended.

"Piece of cake," she took his hand firmly in hers and shook.

He glanced down to their connected hands as a warmth began to wash from his fingers up his arm.

"You got a name, cowboy?" The woman looked at him expectantly as she released his hand.

"Daryl. And how's about yours?" he asked, shifting his crossbow over his shoulder. Now that he was so close to her, he could see that her eyes were a surprising shade of golden brown, like deep pools of amber whiskey.

"My name's Afton," she said reaching over her shoulder to drop her arrow in its quiver. "It was the name of the town my grandma grew up in. Don't expect there's too much there now, though."

"I actually drove through that town once, you know, before all the shit hit the fan."

Afton's gaze shifted from Daryl's to the Walker. A worry line knit her pretty black brows together and she seemed lost in thought.

Daryl cleared his throat. "Uh, looks to me we is losing light pretty fast here. I'ma hafta start settin' up my camp."

Her eyes shot back to him.

"Oh, right." She let out a short, humorless laugh and dropped her gaze.

"Sorry," she continued, "Sometimes I just get caught up in remembering the way life was, before…Um, I've got a camp set up not too far from here. I'd be willing to share a patch of ground with you. It's always nice to have a little company. Safety in numbers, you know?" She offered him a weak half-smile.

He looked at her and wished he could take her in his arms and soothe away all the worries from this fucked up world. He was, by nature, a protector. Hell, that's the reason he was out here in the first place, trying to find food for the people he left back his own camp. Her proposition did sound damn appealing, though. Sharing dinner and company would be like heaven after two days on the trail with no one to talk to but a few chattering squirrels skittering in the trees.

"How do you know you can trust a man you just met?" Daryl's smoky blue eyes narrowed as he asked her, watching for her response.

She looked at him closely, and he felt a warm blush rise to his cheeks at her scrutinization. He regretted asking the question almost as soon as it left his mouth and instantly doubted she would let him share camp with her. He took a quick mental inventory of his appearance: dirty cargo pants with a poorly sewn rip up the thigh, a dusty brown t-shirt that once was white with cut off sleeves, a scruffy over-grown goatee, and tousled hair badly in need of a shampoo and trim. No, he really didn't believe she would let him roll out his sleeping bag next to her fire, and he wouldn't even blame her.

Afton tapped a finger to her lips, drawing his focus back to her.

"It's your eyes," she said resolutely. "I guess I feel like I've met you before. Plus, any man that has a Horton Scout HD 125 crossbow and knows how to use it is a friend of mine."

Daryl blinked and a shy smile lit to his lips. "Well, alright then. Lemme grab my pack," he said gesturing to the oak he had been behind.

"Sure thing, cowboy." Afton turned to the bush she had emerged from. "I'll grab my stuff too."

Walking around the tree, Daryl knelt in front of his pack. He checked and secured the buckles methodically, and when reaching to zip up a side pocket his fingers brushed the compass Merle had given him on his thirteenth birthday-one of the only gifts he had ever received from his older brother. Even after all the shit Merle had put him through growing up, he owed most of his knowledge of his survival skills to him. He hoped that stupid son of a bitch made it back from that suicide mission to Atlanta and in enough time to help him skin up the deer he was bound and determined to take down.

Daryl straightened from his pack and hitched it over his shoulder. He came around the oak to see Afton waiting for him. She had her bow and quiver over one shoulder, and a black backpack over the other.

"You need help carrying any of that, darlin?"

Afton laughed and flashed a straight row of white teeth. "You're funny, cowboy. I've been hauling my own gear since I was knee high to a grasshopper. I think I can handle it."

Daryl smiled and stretched his hand out palm up. "Okay then, lead the way."

They walked in an amicable silence, Daryl stealing little glances at Afton. The fading sunlight dappled through the trees and played across her soft cheek bones and a stubborn wisp of hair kept falling across her forehead, no matter how many times she brushed it behind her ear. And despite the general lack of fresh water these days, her face and hands looked like they had just been scrubbed clean.

After about a quarter mile they came upon a dense grove of Sarvis trees and had to walk through single file, Afton leading the way. A sudden cool breeze gusted up, flirting through her ponytail and drifting the sweetly pleasant scent of magnolias straight to Daryl, which instantly transported him back to shucking peas on his grandmother's porch. The fleeting memory brought a crooked grin to his lips. He opened his mouth to mention it to Afton, but quickly closed it when they crested the hill they were climbing and he saw her camp. He was impressed. If he had access to all the supplies she did his camp would look exactly the same.

A rock ringed fire pit sat in the center of a tidy little clearing with a camp chair facing it. A two-person dome tent was pitched a short way to the right of the fire, and directly opposite was a sun-faded blue Jeep with a small folding table beside it set with a white plastic tub, a gallon size water jug, and a bottle of dish soap. There was even a solar-heated camp shower hanging from a branch on a tree near the truck. Daryl cocked his head to the right and heard the distinct rushing of river water not two yards from where he stood.

"Home sweet home," she said turning to look up at him and placing her hands on her hips. "What's mine is yours."

Daryl pulled the rucksack off his shoulder, set it on the ground and stepped close enough to her that she was less than an arm's reach away. "I brought my own supplies, but I'm willin' to share whatever you can use as a thank you for lettin' me stay on here with you. I was trackin' a good size buck when we crossed paths, so I'll get on his trail again tomorrow and be out of your hair."

His glance ghosted over her. He could feel a warmth radiating off her from their hike and a faint sheen of sweat slicked her forehead. There were pink blooms of color high on her cheeks and that damn stubborn lock of hair had fallen into her eyes again. His fingers twitched slightly as he fought the sudden, wild urge to brush the dark hairs back behind her ear.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. That would surely be a fucking efficient way to get booted out of this camp and onto his ass. And he sure as hell wasn't leaving here until he at least got to use that shower.

Afton smiled up at him, her eyes a strong, warm brandy, and her hands still on her hips. "Well, since we're helping each other out, would you mind gatherin' up some wood and I'll work on dinner?"

"I can do that." He flashed her an innocent smile, but chuckled to himself bitterly as he walked away because with Afton, getting wood was gonna be way too fucking easy any time he was near her.


	2. Chapter 2

Afton stood at the edge of a shallow pool a short distance up stream from the river by camp with her bow drawn. She had been watching a carp circle and nip at water bugs in the pond, and as soon as it swam toward the bank, she released the bowstring instantly spearing the fish. She pulled her arrow up out of the water, the carp still jerking and thrashing at the end and held it over her net. The fish slid off the arrow and into the netting, falling on top of the walleye she had caught moments earlier.

She looked down at the fish and smiled. They were both a fair size. She and Daryl were going be eating good tonight. She slung her bow across her shoulder and brought her hand up to finger the hair that had once again refused to stay behind her ear. She was acutely aware of the way Daryl's slate blue eyes had darkened and his jaw had set at the sight of that wisp of hair falling across her forehead when he had stood before her not ten minutes ago. Her own heart had tripped in her chest at the anticipation of his touch, and when he had instead shoved his hands in his pockets a small wave of disappointment had washed over her. She had let out a shaky breath as soon as his back was turned and had been barely able to scramble down the embankment to the creek on her trembling legs. Focusing on dinner had helped to calm her nerves and the feel of her bow in her hands had quickly centered her to her task. If Daryl was only staying on one night she was going to make sure he at least had a good meal in him before they parted ways.

The sound of a heavy thud and masculine grunt above the rise of the embankment shook Afton from her reflections. She swiftly loaded an arrow and jogged up the hill with terror pricking at her heart. She drew the bow when camp came into view, fully expecting to see the cowboy sprawled on the ground, his guts in a Walker's mouth.

All she saw was Daryl kneeling over the fire pit, flint in hand and two large logs at his feet.

He shot to his feet, hands up. "Don't shoot! Jesus, woman, it's just me!"

"Oh, God, Daryl! I'm sorry! I thought…I thought…" Afton slowly disengaged the bowstring, her voice hitching in her chest and the threat of tears stinging the backs of her eyes. "I heard a noise, and all I could think was, was, Walkers and you, and oh, God. Just like Paul and Dad. Daryl, I can't go through that again!"

Daryl stepped long strides across the clearing and gently took the bow from her hand. He set it on the ground then deliberately placed his hands on either side of her face.

"Hey, it's okay." His scratchy southern drawl was barely an octave above a whisper.

She closed her eyes to try and steady her stampeding heart and felt a tear slip down her cheek. The callused pad of Daryl's thumb gingerly wiped it away.

"Afton, look at me."

She slowly opened her eyes and looked up into his clear and piercing gaze.

"See? We're okay. I'm okay, you're okay. You reacted exactly how you were supposed to. Those goddamned Walkers are fuckin' ruthless. I'm just glad you didn't actually fire! I've seen what a hell of a shot you are." He flashed her that elusive lopsided grin.

Afton blushed at the compliment, but kept her eyes locked on his.

"Now, I'm gonna finish settin' up this fire. You be okay to get the fish cleaned and I'll fry 'em up for you?"

She nodded as Daryl pulled his hands away from her face and let them fall to his sides.

He smiled shyly, "Uh, much as I hate to say it, you're gonna hafta let me go darlin'."

She quickly looked down and realized that at some point she had drawn the front of his shirt into her raised fists. She released the fabric and smoothed it out across the hard plane of his chest. The strong beat of his heart under her palms had her hesitating before pulling her hands back.

Afton glanced up at Daryl's face and saw that tic bunch in his jaw again.

He took half a step backward and nearly tripped over a stick lying in the short grass. He let out a nervous sounding laugh before shoving his hands in his pockets and turning to stalk into the twilight-darkened woods.

Afton stood stark still and blinked after him. What the hell had just happened here? She released a long sigh and stooped to pick up her bow.

Straightening, she walked back toward the riverbank, the last of the day's light washing the clearing in golden reds and purples.

She found the fish in the abandoned net in the sand beside the water's edge. Her body went on autopilot, _descale, gut, rinse_, while her mind wandered. She couldn't believe how close to hysterics she had just been. Being raised by a military father and two older brothers had taught her the value of strength under pressure, and even after all she had learned, she had still been dangerously close to panic.

How could anyone blame her though? Losing Paul and Dad had been shock enough, but not knowing where Brian was, or even if he was okay, had just about pushed her over the edge. Fearing for Daryl had been like the breaking of the tiny thread that had held her away from the brink of irrationality. The concern in his face and the comfort of his touch is all that had pulled her back.

Afton felt her cheeks grow warm as her body remembered the strong, sure feeling of his hands on her face. And the way those blue eyes had immediately centered her, _"It's your eyes. I guess I feel like I've met you before." _

She shook her head and chided herself; Afton, this has to stop.

Daryl would be leaving tomorrow, he said so himself. And what then? She would pack up her gear again and get back on Brian's trail. The last communication she had received from her brother had been from Fort McPherson, where he was stationed. There was no question as to what she would risk searching for him- he was the only family she had left in this world.

But, she thought to herself, her mind shifting back to Daryl, if she had just this once, just this one night, what was the harm in having a little fun?


	3. Chapter 3

The Walking Dead is property of its respective owners

_I own my OC Afton_

_(Sorry I forgot to state that on my last chapter, I'm still a newbie)_

_Warning: fluff, fluff, fluff! But, c'mon, you know y'all love it! ;)_

Darkness had fallen on camp and Daryl found himself sitting on one of the logs he had hauled up next to the fire pit, absently poking at the embers with a stick. The frying pan he had found in the backseat of Afton's Jeep was already warming on a grate over the flames.

He glanced up from the fire when he heard her footsteps crunching up the embankment. His stomach reflexively twisted up, like he'd just taken a punch to the gut, and he groaned. What was it about that damned woman that she could tie him into knots, just by hearing her walk toward him?

He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. None of the women at his own camp had ever gotten any emotions from him (other than mild annoyance) quite like Afton, and he had been around them for weeks. He knew they were all some of the strongest women he had ever met, but none of them were as fiercely independent, or as deadly fuckin' accurate with a crossbow as Afton.

He had known in that instant when she had come rushing up from the river, her bow drawn, and her eyes holding a mixture of terror and lethal determination, his ass was as good as fucking dead. But then that split second of realization had dawned across her face, replaced just as quickly with shock, and not even his worry over crossing some line would stop him from taking her in his hands to wipe away her tears.

The feeling of her skin on his had nearly sent him over the edge and it was all he could do to step back from her after she had run her hands over his chest. He could have just as easily laid her down in the grass right there, but he was not gonna be some asshole who took advantage of her trust. He sighed and went back to poking the logs in the fire.

Afton appeared in the circle of light cast by the flames, the cleaned fish on a tin plate held out in front of her and a grin spread wide across her face.

"Let's get this dinner started! I'm starving!" she said laying the fillets on the frying pan. They immediately started sizzling and popping.

She knelt down in front of her backpack that had been set next to the folding camp chair and rummaged through one of the pockets.

"I've got a surprise for you, cowboy," she grinned at him, her eyes twinkling playfully in the firelight. "Hope you like lemon pepper fish fillets!"

She pulled out a small squeeze bottle of lemon juice and a shaker of pepper. "We're just gonna hafta improvise."

The smell that began wafting out of the frying pan when she added the ingredients was damn near intoxicating and Daryl had to wipe the back of his hand across his lips to make sure he wasn't drooling.

"And," she continued, her hand disappearing into her bag again, "this."

Daryl looked to see her holding a tarnished silver flask. She passed it to him and he unscrewed the top. The sweetly familiar scent of brandied peaches drifted up to him.

His gaze slid back to her, one eyebrow raised, "This SoCo? Ain't you gonna wanna save this for somethin' special?"

"This _is_ somethin' special," she said as she sat down next to him on the log then shifted her body to face him. She placed her had on his knee and looked up into his eyes. That lock of hair had fallen across her forehead, but she made no move to push it back. Daryl's fingers tightened around the flask.

"I mean, we don't really know what's gonna happen tomorrow, right? The world is really unpredictable right now, so we should enjoy the little things when we get a chance."

He looked down to see her hand slide a fraction of an inch up his leg. Maybe a drink wasn't such a bad idea, seein' as how his mouth felt so dry.

"Well, then, darlin'. To us." He tipped the flask at her before putting his lips to the rim and pulling off a long draught.

His eyes slipped closed and he groaned as the liquor warmed a trail straight to his belly.

"I can't remember Southern Comfort ever tasting this good," he chuckled handing the flask back to Afton.

She took a swig and grimaced as she swallowed. "Tastes 'bout the same to me," she choked and practically shoved the bottle back at him.

Some of the alcohol had slicked her lips and glistened in the firelight. Daryl's eyes were instantly riveted to her mouth. She ran her tongue across her bottom lip, and he swore his heart damn near stopped beating.

He watched as his hand, seemingly of it's own accord, reached up to brush back the wisps of inky black hair from her eyes, then moved down to gently cup her cheek. His heart, which had resumed beating at some point, promptly jumped up into his throat when her lids fluttered closed and she nuzzled her face into his palm.

He swallowed hard. "Afton," he whispered, and was amazed at the easy roll of her name off of his tongue.

"Hmm?" Her eyes suddenly flew open. "Oh shit, Daryl, the fish!"

And before he had any time to process what was happening, she jumped off the log and grabbed a spatula resting on one of the rocks around the fire ring.

"Dammit, it smells burnt! I hope it's not too bad." She wrapped a handkerchief around the pan's handle and flipped the fillets, exposing a brownish-black crust.

Afton stood staring down at the skillet and sighed. "It _is _bad." She turned back to him. "I'm sorry. I wanted this dinner to be special."

He looked up at her, the spatula in one hand, the handkerchief dangling in the other, and a little pout wrinkling her chin; he couldn't help but smile. He pushed himself up off the log, still holding the flask.

"Ain't no thing, darlin'. I've had lots worse. Ever try raw squirrel?" he grinned, pulling the spatula out of her hand and replacing it with the alcohol. "Food is food, and this will help wash down damn near anything."

She looked down at the bottle and smiled. Daryl watched as she unscrewed the top and tipped her head back to take a drink. He followed the line of her jaw and saw her throat working as she swallowed. He wet his lips and weighed the pros and cons of pressing a kiss to that sweet neck.

There was still a chance that he'd be packin' up his shit in the dark and finding a new place to bed down if he moved too fast, but hadn't she said to enjoy the little things? He knew he wouldn't see her again after tomorrow, a thought that, for some reason made his chest feel a little tight and uncomfortable, and if the look in those amber-whiskey eyes was any indication, she was wantin' to make most of this night too.

Daryl sighed and raked his fingers through his hair just as Afton pulled the flask back from her mouth, coughing and sputtering.

He laughed gently as he patted her back. "Maybe we should slow it down a little bit there, darlin'."

She gasped in breaths between giggles. "I'm kind of a light-weight," she admitted, wiping her mouth with her forearm.

"Let's get some food in you, then."

He was still chuckling as he turned back to the fish. He pulled them off the skillet and laid them on the plates he had grabbed out of his rucksack, along with two forks.

"Thanks." Afton accepted the dish and sat with him on the log.

They both took a bite and looked at each other, smiling around mouthfuls of fish fillet.

"This actually isn't half bad," she marveled, eyes wide.

Daryl savored the tangy, flaky textures before swallowing. "Helluva lot better than squirrel."

He grabbed the flask she had set down in the grass. "There's about one more shot in here," he said sloshing the last of the SoCo in the bottle.

"Be my guest," she mumbled, shoveling more fish in her mouth.

He knocked back the last of the drink. The food in his belly softened the blow of the liquor somewhat, but his head was already starting to feel soft and fuzzy. When was the last time he had gotten a buzz off of just a few shots? Before the life-altering destruction of The Outbreak he had prided himself on his alcohol tolerance and had even drunk Merle under the table a time or two. But, he realized, not having any booze in his system for somewhere around two months must have really heightened his sensitivity. He scrubbed a hand roughly over his face and looked at Afton.

" … was my dad's favorite nightcap." She had been talking this whole time and he hadn't even heard her. He shook his head and ordered himself to sober up.

"I'm sorry, darlin', what was that?"

She glanced up from her plate and giggled when her eyes settled on him. "Guess I'm not the only light-weight in this camp."

"Shit. Don't look that bad, do I?" He felt a sloppy grin plaster itself across his face; he hadn't even slurred one word.

She giggled again and her eyes softened. "I think you look perfect, cowboy. But, maybe some water will take the edge off."

He watched as she stood taking the empty plate and flask from his hand. She put the dishes in her washtub on the table next to her truck then walked back and knelt in front of her bag. She pulled out a full water bottle and placed it in his hands.

He took a couple gulps before passing the bottle back to her. "I would kill for a fuckin' cup of coffee and a cigarette right about now."

"I would kill for lots of things right now, and a nice, hot bubble bath is just about number one on that list," she sighed, sitting cross-legged in front of the fire.

Daryl quirked an eyebrow up. "Bubble bath, huh?" The water had helped in sobering him up, but the image of Afton, lying in a tub with steam rising off of her quickly finished off his buzz.

"What? Why do you look surprised?"

He rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled, trying to think of anything but a very wet and very naked Afton. "It's just that you're such a bad-ass, you know, and a bubble bath is, uh, kinda girly, I guess," he finished lamely.

"You are so cute, cowboy." She smiled roguishly as she crawled over to where he was sitting. She sat up on her knees, set her hands on either side of him, and looked into his eyes.

Her face was mere inches from his and the oddly pleasant scents of Southern Comfort and magnolias warred together and teased his nostrils. The firelight was reflected in her eyes making their color seemed darker and more heated, with shimmering gold flakes arrowed through the warming browns.

"We should enjoy the little things, right? Not take anything for granted?" he whispered, surprised at how level his voice sounded, seeing as how his heart was about to beat itself out of his fuckin' ribcage.

"Took the words right out of my mouth." Her gaze dipped down to his lips and he felt his fingers tighten over his knees.

He swallowed, pulled his hands up from his lap and ran them slowly up her arms, glided them lightly up her neck, then stopped to gently frame her face.

He looked her straight in the eye. "Afton, I would fucking die before I could ever even think of taking you for granted."

Daryl leaned in and took her lips in a kiss that he had, in the beginning, intended to be sweet and gentle. But the soft pull of her mouth, and the sudden feel of her fingers running through his hair, quickly shattered whatever innocent intent he had thought of holding on to.

He ran his hands from her cheeks to the back of her head to hold her in closer as he crushed his lips against hers. His fingers found and released the band tying her hair back. He groaned low in his throat as he felt the silky stands fall around his hands. All the blood had drained from his head and traveled straight southward and the only words he was capable of thinking were: _this woman, this fucking woman. _

He pulled her back to draw in a breath, but felt it hitch in his chest at the sight of her. Her hair, black as a crow's wing, was tumbled about her shoulders, her eyes were dazed and heavy lidded, and her lips were puffy and kiss-bruised. She was absolute fuckin' perfection, this woman he had known less than twenty-four hours, and who he would not see ever again in less time than even that. His heart squeezed painfully and he pushed the thought from his mind forcefully. This was here and this was now and he'd be a damned fucking idiot if he let this time with her just slip away.

Finally resolved, he stood and taking her hands in his, pulled Afton to her feet in front of him. She circled her arms around his neck just as he wrapped his around her waist, drawing her up against his body. Her eyes widened as she pressed against that part of him that wanted her the most.

His whole body froze and his fingers gripped her hips as he looked down at her. "Afton, if I'm crossin' some line, you need to tell me, 'cause I can't promise I'll be able to stop if we go any further."

"Daryl," she smiled coyly, "you know I could kick your ass seven ways to Sunday. If I wanted you to stop, I would be making myself pretty fucking clear right now."

Her hands on the back of his neck pulled him down into a deep and brutally intimate kiss. The first flick of her tongue against his sent shivers down his spine and his fingers instinctively fisted into the fabric on the sides of her shirt, as if he could anchor her down somehow or stop time altogether.

She gasped against his mouth as he unclenched the material and glided his hands up her ribs, stopping to brush his thumbs against the undersides of her breasts. An utterly masculine growl rumbled in his chest at her reaction to his touch.

He broke the kiss panting and brought his forehead down to rest against hers. "You got somethin' soft in that tent we could lay on?"

She pulled back and nodded. Silently grabbing his hand, she walked to the fire-ring to pick up her bow before leading him to her tent and unzipping the covering.

Once inside, they began pulling off clothes. The minimal space didn't allow for standing and so Afton laid back on a sleeping bag to try to wriggle out of her jeans. She smiled up at him sitting on his knees.

"A little help here, cowboy?"

Daryl grabbed the bottoms of her pants and gave a good yank. He slipped backwards, landing right on his ass and chuckling the whole time. He managed to maneuver himself back onto his knees, but his laughter slowly died away. His heart did that funny little flip-flop again when he took in the sight of her clad only in a black sports bra and simple black cotton panties.

He tugged off his boxers just as she was shedding the last of her clothes. He straddled her and slowly ran his hand up her belly, feathered his palm over her breast, and stopped to gently cup her cheek. He lowered his lips to hers in a kiss that seemed to wrench him from the inside out- _this woman._

" Afton, you are so fucking beautiful," his voice quavered ever so slightly, and the threat of tears spiked hot at the back of his eyes.

She brought her hands up to the sides of his neck and her fingertips brushed the whiskers prickling the line of his jaw.

"Daryl." It was all she said, was all she had to say, before he brought them together in one swift, complete move.

His heartbeat accelerated, his chest and arms strained above her, and the only thought that kept running through his mind was, _don't lose her, Daryl, don't you lose this fucking woman. _


	4. Chapter 4

_The Walking Dead is property of its respective owners_

_I own my OC Afton_

Afton woke slowly, squinting against the early morning sunlight that was drifting through the canvas walls of her tent. She yawned and found herself curled against Daryl's bare chest, her head resting on his shoulder. He was snoring softly and his arm was draped protectively around her waist.

She tilted her head up to look at him and smiled. A couple days worth of stubble was sanded across his jaw and his dusky hair was sticking up in all different directions. She could see his pulse ticking against his throat and feel the steady beat of his heart under her hand.

Nuzzling in closer to him, she was enveloped by the scent of sweat and sun warmed earth entwined with a trace of smoky campfire. It was wholly male and distinctly Daryl. Her heart stumbled a bit as she drew in a deep breath in an attempt to capture it in her memory, to catalogue it for when he wouldn't be there.

She knew she had no choice but to move on to find Brian, and Daryl had said yesterday that he was planning on getting' back on that buck's trail. She had understood, almost from the beginning, that her time with him would be short, so why was even just the thought of walking away from him making her stomach feel like a cage full of caffeinated butterflies?

Afton had loved solving puzzles ever since she was little, but any way she looked at it, there just didn't seem to be a solution to this situation that didn't leave her feeling guilt as fuck or hurt as hell.

She had seen the buck that he had a mark on yesterday when she had come across him as she was out hunting wild turkeys for her own dinner. It was a good size animal, that deer; more than one man could eat, so he must have an obligation to provide for his own camp somewhere. There was no way she could even think of asking him to follow her on her trek toward her brother's base, just outside of Atlanta. Not when his own family might be depending on him.

The thought made her realize she knew so very little about Daryl. What kind of family might he have left to track down food for them? A wife? Children? She felt the butterflies start up again and quickly abandoned the idea. If all she had with him was the memory of one night, she sure as hell was going to cherish it.

Just as the warm Georgia humidity began building inside the tent, that memory continued to warm her from the inside out and she knew, on some level, it always would. The crushing way his stormy blue eyes had held hers, shimmering as they were in the moonlight. The feel of his solid weight on top of her, pressing her into layers of sleeping bags. The completely, surprisingly perfect fit of their bodies. The sublime feeling of being cradled in his trembling arms. The divine satisfaction of it all had brought tears to her eyes (which she quickly dashed away with her fingertips before he saw). She honestly couldn't remember a time when she had felt so treasured.

Daryl stirred in his sleep and tightened his arm around her. She wrapped her arm across his chest and squeezed back while pressing a kiss to his cheek. His eyes slowly blinked open and he turned his head to look at her. A small smile touched his lips.

"'Mornin', cowboy," she beamed at him.

"'Morning, darlin'," his voice croaked. He smacked his lips together dryly. "We got any water in here?"

"I think we left the water bottle out by the fire last night."

"Mmm. Last night." The corners of his mouth turned up into an impish smile.

Afton yelped as he rolled her under him and pinned her with his weight. He laid a quick kiss to her lips before turning to grab his pants. He lay down next to her and shimmied into the dirty cargos.

She tugged on her t-shirt and jeans while he sat watching her intently.

"I think I have a couple granola bars stashed in the Jeep, if you wanna have somethin' to eat before you take off," she said while brushing hair out of her eyes and attempting to stand in the tent. She was surprised to see a pained expression dart across his face. It happened so quickly, she almost wasn't sure she actually saw it.

Daryl tunneled his fingers through his hair and smiled weakly. "How's about a shower first?" He grabbed her bow and crouched to unzip the tent door.

Afton was about to step out after him, but he held his hand behind him stopping her exit.

"Daryl, what is i.."

"Arrow! Now!" he ground out between clenched teeth.

She dropped to her knees and grabbed the first arrow she could find, stashed in the corner of the tent for emergencies. She shoved it at his hand and peered around him.

A Walker wearing a torn and bloodied camo jumpsuit was standing at her wash table licking one of the plates they had used at dinner. He grunted and slowly turned toward them at the sound of their voices.

Daryl wasted no time in nocking and firing the arrow. It sped straight through the Walker's dulled right eye, instantly dropping him.

Daryl stepped out in to the clearing, scanning the campsite. "Where's your quiver? Might be more around," he tossed back over his shoulder.

She stumbled out of the tent toward her backpack. Her quiver was lying next to it, propped against the camp chair. She passed him another arrow before digging in her bag for her hatchet. Her heart was thudding in her chest as she stepped back to Daryl, the small axe held out in front of her.

They both stood silently, listening. The only sounds coming from the forest were the buzzing of cicadas high in the trees and the hollow tapping of a woodpecker.

Afton blew out a breath between pursed lips and looked over at Daryl. He had already disengaged the bowstring and was standing next to her shirtless, staring down at the Walker and scratching his head with the pink and black fletched end of her arrow. His hair, which was already a tangled mess, now had a section sticking straight up off his forehead, a bright pink feather poking through the cowlick. She burst out laughing.

"What's so fuckin' funny?" He stared at her, one eyebrow cocked.

The feather fluttered in the breeze and she wrapped her arms around her middle, gasping around another bout of laughter. "Nothing! It's just that p-p-pink is such a great color on you!"

He just looked at her, his confusion somehow making it even funnier. She tried her best to swallow her giggles as she plucked the feather out of his hair.

"You can keep this as a souvenir," she grinned, pressing the pink fletch into his hand.

He looked down at the stiff feather in his hand and slowly curled it in his fingers. His gaze slid back to hers and that crooked smile hinted at his lips before he brought his mouth down to hers for a soft kiss.

The butterflies began dive-bombing her stomach, but for a completely different reason than before. Well, maybe not _completely_ different. The anxiety over moving on still rolled her insides uneasily, but the sensation was momentarily replaced by the gentle bliss of his lips on hers. The anxiety ultimately won out though, and she could feel tears begin to well in her eyes. She quickly turned away from him.

Quietly pulling in a shaky breath she said, "We should prolly move this guy," motioning toward the Walker.

Behind her, Daryl cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. These dirty sum' bitches attract flies pretty fast."

He brushed past her and grabbed the Walker under his armpits. Afton stepped to the Walker's feet and grabbed his boots. They shuffled Mr. Jumpsuit as far away from the campsite as possible, being careful to keep him a safe distance from the river.

Afton stood at her wash table pumping sanitizer into her hands after they had walked back. She had just finished washing last night's dishes and Daryl had already stripped down and was rinsing off under the camp shower. He was humming a song she couldn't quite place. Rolling Stones, maybe? She looked over at him when he called her name.

"Got a little bit of soap I could use to wash my hair?"

She grabbed the dish soap next to her washtub and walked over to him. She bypassed his outstretched hand and instead squirted soap into her own palm.

"Turn around," she smiled, rubbing her hands together.

He grinned and turned his back to her. She stretched her arms under the water, trying not to get too wet, and lathered the soap in his hair. Her fingers rubbed against his scalp and she heard him groan.

Why did she keep doing this to herself? Any touch, or kiss, or look was only going to make him leaving her all the more painful.

She finished rinsing his hair and stepped back.

"All done."

He turned to her. "Think you missed a spot, darlin'." She squealed as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her under the water's spray. He laid a loud, wet kiss to her lips as she giggled and tried to push away.

He wrapped his arms around her. She was fully clothed and now completely drenched.

"C'mon, darlin', just one more kiss." He was aiming for her mouth, but she turned her head and his lips brushed her cheek instead.

Afton took a deep breath and looked up at him, water running into her eyes. "Daryl, I have to start packing up camp."

His smile faded and he stepped out from under the water, pushing his dripping hair away from his face. She reached up and turned the water spigot off.

"I'm sorry, Daryl, but I have to find my brother. He was stationed right outside Atlanta and I haven't heard from him since before the Outbreak. I _have_ to know if he's okay. And you have to get back to your own family, right? I couldn't ask you to leave them for me." She realized her voice had risen in pitch and that she had started rambling. She gulped in a breath and looked at him. He had grabbed a towel off a tree branch and was drying his body vigorously, not even bothering to look in her direction. She wiped her cheeks, unsure if it was the water from the shower or her own tears that were streaming down her face.

Daryl yanked on his boxers and pants and turned to grab his shirt out of the tent. Afton watched as the pink feather worked it's way out of his pocket and fluttered to the ground. He was tugging his shirt over his head and didn't see as she stepped to him and stooped to pick it up. She turned the fletch in her fingers nervously as she stood before him.

He looked down at her as he combed his fingers through his hair, her hurt reflected in his eyes.

She dropped her hands to her sides and sighed shakily, "How else could this work? We both have obligations here."

"Don't I get a say in this?" he practically shouted at her. He crossed his arms over his chest and lowered his voice, "How the _fuck_ am I supposed to walk away from you, when I just fucking found you?" His eyes glittered harshly with unshed tears.

Afton was at a complete and utter loss for words. Her heart literally ached.

Daryl's bottom lip trembled and he quickly pressed his mouth into a thin line before gripping her upper arms and continuing, "There has to be a fuckin' way. You can come back to camp with me and we'll get Merle and we'll go to Atlanta together. We can sit down right now and talk 'bout some sort of plan. Afton, please, don't make me leave without you."

"We knew this would happen, from the beginning. Daryl, my brother needs me," her voice was thick with tears and she was openly crying as she held the feather up to him. "Just, please don't forget me."

He plucked the feather from her hand and held it up between his fingers, anger and hurt flashing in his stormy blue eyes.

"If you think, for one fuckin' second, that _this_ is all I'd need to remember you by, you'd be _severely_ fuckin' mistaken!"

He shoved the feather in his pocket before grasping her by the back of her neck and pulling her in to crush his lips against hers. Her heart swelled to nearly bursting at the sudden contact.

Daryl pulled her back and looked into her eyes. "I'm taking every fucking second I've been with you, and there's nothing you can do about it."

He released his hands from her neck and slowly turned to stalk to his rucksack and crossbow lying in the dirt by the fire pit.

She watched, helplessly brokenhearted, as he hitched his gear across his shoulder and walked into the dense Georgia forest.

Afton slowly sank to her knees in the soft grass next to her tent. She had known that this was gonna hurt like hell, but hell didn't even come fucking close to describing what she was feeling right now. She wept into her hands and her mind finally placed the words of Daryl's song: _Wild, wild horses couldn't drag me away…_


	5. Chapter 5

_The Walking Dead is property of its respective owners_

_I own my OC Afton_

The sun was already high in the noon sky when Daryl finally returned to where he had last seen the deer, and where he had first met Afton. His heart clenched painfully and he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying like hell to stop the burning threat of tears. He had told himself not to fucking lose her, and he had tried his damndest not to, but how could he even fight for her when she was the one pushing him away?

He yanked his gear off his shoulder and fisted his hands at his sides.

"Fuck!" he cried out, anger and hurt cracking his voice.

He seriously considered punching his fist through the thick oak right next to him, but how far could he get in a fucking zombie apocalypse with a goddamned broken hand? He sighed and slowly lowered himself to the ground, propped his back against the tree and held his pounding head in his hands.

He had told her, fucking told her himself, that he would be leaving today; it was almost the first thing out of his damn mouth when she had brought him to her camp. But last night, this morning, all of it, had shifted something in him, and he'd be damned if Afton didn't feel it too.

He snorted bitterly into his palms and rubbed his hands down his face. Didn't really matter what she felt, did it? Through all her kisses and all her tears, she was still the one who had told him to get the fuck out. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the pink feather she had given him. How could she even think he'd ever forget her? He sniffled and ran the back of his hand under his nose. Couldn't forget her even if he wanted to. He knew if he was ever lucky enough to taste SoCo again, or be around long enough to smell magnolias in bloom, or even if he was unfortunate enough to be face to face with a fucking Walker with his crossbow loaded and ready, he would remember her. He just hoped it wouldn't hurt so fuckin' much every time he did.

Daryl pushed the feather back into his pocket and stood, roughly scrubbing a tear from his cheek.

What the fuck was he supposed to do now?

He looked down at the forest floor. The deer's tracks were still faintly visible through the dead leaves, but what was really the point in goin' after the sonofabitch now? Probably had a good fifteen miles on him already, and he barely had enough supplies to make it back to his camp.

A squirrel skittered up a tree to his left and he grabbed his bow off the ground; best not come back to camp empty handed or he'd definitely catch shit from Merle for being gone so many days with nothin' to show for it.

/

The sky was darkening when Daryl finally decided to bed down for the night. For most of the afternoon, he had focused his hurt and frustration into hunting squirrels, tagging almost a dozen of the little bastards in all, and had leashed them together on a rope he had found in the bottom of his rucksack.

He had walked more than halfway back to his original camp and would probably make it there by tomorrow afternoon if he kept up this pace. He pulled his kills and gear off his shoulder and slumped to the ground. The evening air held a chill, but he barely had enough energy to roll his sleeping bag out, let alone build a fire.

Grunting, he pulled his pack in front of him and dug through it for his bedroll. He found it and smoothed it on top of the stiff forest grasses as best he could before lying down. He rolled over to his side, propped himself up on his elbow and, using his free hand, searched his bag for his canteen. His fingers grasped the bottle, but his hand brushed across a bulge pushing against the backside of one of the pockets on his pack as he pulled the water free.

_What the hell is this now?_ He sat up and took a drink from his canteen before unbuckling the pocket. The moonlight glinted off the familiar foil packaging of a granola bar stuffed neatly into the pouch.

A small smile crept to his mouth and his stomach rumbled. Afton must have slipped it in his bag when he was using the shower. His chest tightened as he realized that their moment together under that water was the last happy memory he would ever share with her.

He grabbed the granola bar and took another drink of water, trying to swallow around the painful lump in his throat.

Ripping open the package, he tore off half of the bar in one bite. He grimaced and looked down at the wrapper. Raisin? This day was just gettin' fuckin' better and better wasn't it? He gingerly folded the rest of the bar into the wrinkled foil and stuffed it back in its pocket. _Food is food and beggars can't be fuckin' choosers_. At least he'd have a little something to eat in the morning for the trek home. He huffed out a breath and leaned back onto his sleeping bag, lacing his fingers behind his head. Home? That was a fuckin' joke. He didn't feel half as welcome there as he did for the few short hours he had spent at Afton's camp; well, right up to the end there, anyways. He groaned and rolled over onto his side. _Nothing _in his life would ever come fucking close to being half as good as it was with Afton.

He squeezed his eyes shut and slipped slowly into an uneasy sleep where she haunted even his dreams. Daryl saw her standing in a grassy clearing, her back to him, and the faint echoes of that damned 'Stones song playing and replaying like a broken record in the background. He called to her and she turned slowly. Her hair was loose around her shoulders with a small braid tucked behind her ear. A pink feather, woven between the plaits, fluttered in the gentle breeze. He looked to her eyes. The amber color seemed vacant, drained of warmth; she was gazing straight through him.

Concern and panic raked over him and he walked toward her, haltingly awkward, as if he was trying to step through mud. He wasn't two feet from her when she slowly pulled up her compound bow, stopping him dead in his tracks, the arrow pointed straight at his heart.

He stared at her, helplessly trying to speak, but the words fell soundlessly from his lips. Afton's arm was trembling with the straining pull of the bowstring. Her eyes suddenly cleared and a tear slipped down her cheek.

"I'm sorry, Daryl, I'm so sorry." She pulled her fingers back and released the arrow.

Daryl awoke with a start and sat up clutching at his chest and gasping for breath. He wiped sweat from his brow with a shaky hand and looked around. Dawn was just breaking through the trees surrounding him and all was quiet except for the harsh caw of a raven in the distance. He pulled his knees up to his chest and reached for his canteen. The dream was fading and his aching heart was slowing to its normal rate as he swallowed the last of his water.

He tossed the bottle into his pack and got up to stuff his sleeping bag on top of it. He knelt down to grab the last of his granola breakfast then secured and fastened the buckles on his rucksack. Hitching his gear and squirrels over his shoulder, he glanced back to the trail he had walked from Afton's camp. He slipped his hand in his pocket and absently fingered the pink feather. If she didn't want him there, why the fuck would he go back? He stiffly pulled his hand out of his pocket and adjusted his crossbow over his shoulder.

"Why the fuck _would_ I go back?" he whispered, trying to make sense of Afton's reasoning. He understood as well as she did that family was important. And he knew how it felt to be so fiercely protective of your brother, even if he was usually protecting Merle from himself. He just couldn't see why she was so fucking adamant about going to find her brother alone.

He cleared his throat, and stuffing the last of the granola bar in his mouth, turned and began walking toward his camp.

/

Daryl had been walking for miles, completely lost in thought, when the sharp rustle of dead leaves abruptly caught his attention. His head snapped up at the sound, his crossbow already loaded and nestled in the crook of his shoulder. The memory of Afton stepping out from behind the bush flooded back to the forefront of his mind, and the urge to see her again nearly overtook him. He firmly shook the thought from his head and stood unmoving as a fair-sized doe walked into view between two trees not fifteen yards from him. Her ears swiveled toward him and then she was bounding off into the forest. Daryl fired his arrow, nailing the deer in the left flank. She faltered momentarily but regained her footing and was off again.

"Looks like venison's back on the menu," he growled, sprinting after her.

He kept up with her at first, even knocking her in the flank again twice, but lost her somewhere close to two miles from camp. Slowing to catch his breath, he peered at the forest floor, searching for blood and hoof-prints. He followed the markings closely, but stopped short when he heard loud grunts and the distinctive sound of axe crunching bone.

Jesus, what now? He rounded a large boulder and came face to face with the men from his camp, all staring wide-eyed with their weapons at the ready. He looked down to see his doe, a ground hamburger mess lying next to a headless Walker.

"Son of a bitch, that's my deer!" He stepped to the zombie. "Look at it, all gnawed on by this filthy, disease bearin', motherless bastard!" he shouted while laying kicks to the Walker's side.

"C'mon, son, that's not helping," Dale, the oldest member of the group lamented.

Daryl stalked over to him and glared, his anger barely checked. He was just out for days tryin' to hunt down food for these people and this was his big 'welcome the fuck home'? "What do you know about it old man?" He motioned to Dale's bucket hat with his crossbow. "Take that stupid hat and go back to 'on golden pond'."

He sighed, looking down at what was supposed to be his kill and started yankin' out his arrows. "I've been trackin' this deer for miles. I was gonna drag it back to camp, cook us up some venison."

Kneeling down and pulling his knife, he traced around the ripped portion of the deer's neck. "Waddya think? Think we can cut around this chewed up part right here?"

The supposed 'leader' of camp, Shane, stepped forward. "I would not risk that."

Daryl snorted and looked back at the deer. "It's a damn shame." He glanced up to the group standing around him and saw two new faces: a clean-shaven man in jeans and a white t-shirt (who happened to look a lot like a fuckin' cop, fuck you very much) and a good 'ol pretty boy wearin' army fatigues. Seemed like he had some new friends to play with. "I got some squirrel, about a dozen or so. Guess that'll have to fuckin' do."

He stood, settling his gear back across his shoulder. The disembodied head of the Walker opened his eyes and began snapping at the air as Daryl walked by. Two of the women from camp were looking on; Amy paled and held her hand to her mouth. She fled, quickly followed by her sister, Andrea.

Daryl stopped and fired an arrow through the zombie's eye. "C'mon people, what the hell?" he asked, bracing his foot against the Walker's cheek and pulling his arrow free. "It's gotta be the fuckin' brain. Don't y'all know nothin'?" It was a fuckin' wonder these people had survived this long.

He looked over as he walked back toward the tent and vehicle convoy that comprised camp and saw Andrea holding Amy's hair back as she retched into the dirt. He snorted out a short laugh. These women needed to learn a thing or two from his Afton, and the use of a compound bow sure as hell wasn't first on that list.

He stopped abruptly. _His_ Afton? She wanted to be his just as much as he wanted a nice swift kick to the balls. He swallowed back angry tears and adjusted his crossbow on his shoulder. Best not have wet eyes when he found Merle. His big brother was always real good at beating the shit out of him anytime he saw Daryl even _start_ to tear up.

Speaking of the bastard, he better be ready to help him cook up all this fuckin' meat.

Daryl walked to the fire pit in the clearing next to Dale's RV, setting down his cross bow.

"Merle! Get your ass out here! Got us some squirrel, let's stew 'em up!" He started stepping toward the camper. If that asshole was takin' a nap…

"Daryl, slow up a bit. I need to talk to you," Shane called, walking to him.

Daryl narrowed his eyes. Did this guy ever fuckin' stop? "Talk 'bout what?"

Shane stepped to him, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. "'Bout Merle." He dropped his gaze to the ground before looking back up to Daryl and continuing, "There was a problem in Atlanta."

Daryl's stomach twisted and he instantly felt sick. He glanced up. Everyone in the camp was watching him, probably holdin' their breath and just waitin' for him to blow up.

"He dead?"

Shane sighed. "We're not sure."

The anger that had been barely checked came closer to boiling into rage. "He either is, or he ain't!" Daryl fumed.

"No easy way to say this, so I'll just say it." The cop-looking fucker stepped forward.

Daryl glared at him. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Rick Grimes." He looked uneasy.

"_Rick Grimes_? Got somethin' you wanna tell me?"

"Your brother was a danger to us all. So I handcuffed him on a roof, hooked to a piece of metal. He's still there," Rick explained.

Daryl snapped, tears beginning to blur his vision. "Let me process this," he spat out sarcastically, wiping at his eyes. "You say you handcuffed my brother to a _roof_, and you just fucking left him there?"

He had already lost Afton; he was not about to lose his brother too, not without a fuckin' fight.

Rick dropped his gaze. "Yeah."

Being forced to leave Afton had left him feeling like his heart had been ripped out of his chest. This, these fucking people, took what was left of him and smashed it to pieces. It pushed him over the edge.

He pulled his rucksack and squirrels off his shoulder and chucked them at Rick, then lunged at him, fully intending to break all the bones in his own hand over the man's face.

Daryl let out a rough grunt as Shane tackled him to the ground. He pulled his knife and rushed at Rick again. This man was gonna pay. Left his brother like fucking zombie bait? See how he would like it.

Daryl took one swipe at him before Rick knocked the knife from his hand. He felt Shane grab him from behind and lock his arms around his neck, bringing him to his knees.

"Best let me go!" Daryl shouted, his throat burning.

Shane tightened his arms when Daryl tried prying out of grasp.

"Choke holdin's illegal!" he rasped.

Shane's warm breath skated across his cheek, "File a complaint."

Rick knelt down in front of him, looking him in the eye. "I'd like to have a calm discussion on this topic. Think we can manage that?"

Daryl nodded, only wanting to get Shane's hands off of him.

Shane released him and he sat on his knees, gasping in breath as Rick continued, "What I did was not on a whim. Your brother does not work or play well with others."

Tell me somethin' I don't fuckin' know. Daryl squeezed his eyes shut and started to stand. A strong hand under his arm helped him to his feet. He turned to see pretty boy standing next to him. He yanked his arm away and started dusting himself off.

Another member of his happy little 'family', T-dog, walked over to him.

"It's not Rick's fault. I had the key. I dropped it."

This was un-fuckin'-believable. "And you couldn't pick it up?" Unshed tears stung his eyes.

T-dog slumped his hands to his sides. "I dropped it down a drain."

Daryl snorted, pacing in the dirt next to the RV. "If that's supposed to make me feel better, it don't."

"Then maybe this will: I chained the door to the roof so the Geeks couldn't get to him, with a padlock," T-Dog stated.

"That's gotta count for something," Rick chimed in.

"Hell with all y'all!" Daryl wiped at the tears running down his cheeks. "Just tell me where he is so's I can go get him."

He looked to the people standing, watching.

Rick was the first to speak up. "I'll show you. I'm going back."

Shane stared at him, incredulously. "Why? Why would you risk your life for a douche bag like Merle Dixon?"

Daryl glared at him. "Best choose your words more carefully."

Shane glanced over at him. "No, I did. Douche bag's what I meant." His gaze shot back to Rick. "The man wouldn't give you a glass of water if you were dyin' of thirst."

Daryl's hands fisted at his sides. Shane was just beggin' for a punch in the mouth. Instead, Rick stepped up to Shane before speaking.

"What he would or wouldn't do doesn't interest me. I can't let a man die of thirst. Thirst and exposure. We left him like an animal caught in a trap. That's no way for anything to die, let alone a human being."

Daryl stared at him. At least Rick was willing to own up to his mistakes.

Lori, the brunette with the kid, Carl, rushed up to Rick, fire in her eyes. "So, you and Daryl? That's your big plan?"

Rick glanced over to Glenn, the little Asian kid. He was pretty damn good at sneakin' around the city for supplies, Daryl admitted to himself.

"Oh, come on!" Glenn groaned.

Rick looked him in the eye. "You know the way. You've been there before. In and out, no problems, you said so yourself."

Glenn looked down at his hands.

Shane snorted. "That's just great, Rick. You're gonna risk three men?"

T-dog raised his hand. "Four."

Daryl sat on the ground next to his crossbow, pulling a rag out of his back pocket. He began cleaning and inspecting his arrows. Four was a good number. At least now, he'd have help finding Merle, instead of having to travel to Walker-infested Atlanta alone. His mind instantly shifted to Afton and his heart dropped. _Oh, fuck_. She was headed toward the city, alone, with only a fuckin' bow for protection. He realized now that it didn't matter if she wanted to push him away; he had to find her and keep her safe. He'd have to convince the others to help him look for her after they rescued Merle. And if they refused, he'd do it himself.

He looked up as Glenn started backing a small moving truck up the road toward them. He trotted over and tossed his gear into the back of the truck before hauling himself in. T-dog climbed in behind him.

Rick and Shane were standing at the back of the truck, no doubt arguing about _some_ stupid shit. Daryl reached across Glenn in the driver's seat and honked the horn.

"C'mon, let's go!"

He walked to the back door of the truck and reached his hand out, helping Rick inside.

Glenn put the truck in gear and Daryl was pulling the door down just as the pretty boy in the army fatigues jogged over.

"Wait!" the soldier shouted, running toward the truck, an army issue duffle bag slung across his shoulder.

Daryl extended his hand, pulling pretty boy up the tailgate.

The truck started off on its' trek toward Atlanta as Daryl pulled the truck door shut.

"And just who the fuck are you?" Daryl looked him up and down.

The soldier set his bag down before looking to Daryl, his amber-whiskey eyes flashing in the dim light. "Name's Brian."

He took Daryl's hand in his and shook firmly.


	6. Chapter 6

_The Walking Dead is property of its respective owners_

_I own my OC Afton_

_Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit._ Afton squeezed her eyes shut as she pressed her back to the rough stucco wall outside the entrance of Fort McPherson's barracks.

She knew she had to get in there, hopefully to find even just a trace of Brian, and before it was dark, preferably. There was just the small matter of getting her feet to actually move toward the door. She vaguely remembered where Brian's quarters where from when she and Paul had visited their brother last summer, but there was no telling what might be hiding in the empty dorms and hallways now. And she wasn't exactly a big fan of surprises.

She readied her bow and drew in a deep breath, trying to push down the panic building inside her and almost gagged on the thick, acrid smell of rot and decay that it pulled into her lungs.

Afton blinked back tears and glanced to the grassy, overgrown lawn she had just sprinted across. Sandbag barriers were strewn haphazardly around the perimeter. Bodies lay sprawled everywhere; some in civilian clothes, some in woodland camouflage fatigues, but almost all carried gunshot wounds to the head. Though, at this point, in Georgia's suffocating summer heat, it was hard to tell which had been Walkers and which had been desperate people just trying to fight for their survival.

This place was a death trap, and she was quickly beginning to realize it. All the reports that had been filtered through the media that the big cities and military bases were the safest places to seek for refuge? Complete bullshit.

She was almost positive that Brian wasn't actually on the base anymore, not in its current condition, but she was also completely sure that he was still alive, somewhere. And the only clues as to where that 'somewhere' was might lie inside one of the buildings on this FUBAR army base.

Afton pushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes and peeked hesitantly around the corner at the door to the barracks. She still didn't have a solid plan of action, but if she didn't get her ass moving soon, the Walkers that she knew where still trailing her would eventually catch up, and then she'd have a fucking zombie mob to contend with, alone. She swallowed back the bile rising in her throat.

_C'mon, darlin', the fuck you waitin' for? You know you can do this, _Daryl's voice drawled softly in her head, same as he had for the last day and a half.

Same as he had last night as she huddled into a sleeping bag, shivering in the front seat of her Jeep after it had suddenly given out on a darkened and deserted back road in the Georgian woodlands: _Just wait it out 'til mornin' darlin'. You already know them Walkers can be sneaky bastards, 'specially in the dark. _And so she had waited, waited and tried to sleep, though neither had been very easy. When dawn had finally broken that endless night she had already given up on both and had loaded as much in her backpack as possible, before abandoning her useless truck and starting out again toward Fort McPherson.

_Best pay attention, girl, you's 'bout to have some company._ Afton jerked her head up at the sound of slow moans and grunts. A crowd of Walkers were pushing their way through the bent and twisted chain link fence across the yard. She knew she didn't have enough arrows in her quiver to take them all out and still be ready to clear a way to Brian's dorm, and so she squared her shoulders, turned and stepped to the door.

It gave a heavy resistance, and for one panicked second she thought it was locked. She put both hands to the door and pushed forcefully. It opened just enough for her to squeeze through, and after she had closed it and let her eyes adjust to a dim hallway surrounding her she could see why it had given her difficulty. The body of a soldier sat propped limply against the metal door with a gun in his hand and a gruesome gunshot wound marring his left temple.

Her gaze slipped down to his blood-splattered nametag: _Cussler_. One of Brian's best friends, Danny. Afton felt tears begin to well in her eyes. Wasn't it just last summer that he had bought her a beer when they had all gone out for burgers? A sob snagged in her chest. This world had gone to shit and nothing would ever, _ever_ be the same. And when most people were frantically grasping for even just a trace of the way life used to be, she had forced away the only person that had made her feel any sense of normalcy since this had all started.

For about the millionth time that day she wondered if Daryl had made it back to his family. If he was safe. If he had even thought of her.

_Darlin', if you wanna make all that hurt inside you worth somethin' you'd best get your feet movin' and do what needs be done._ A shaky sigh escaped her lips and she adjusted her quiver and backpack on her shoulder before making her way to the stairs at the end of the hall.

She took the darkened steps cautiously to the second floor and started toward Brian's room. Some of the doors to the dorms stood open, filtering strong afternoon light into the hallway.

Afton walked down the corridor slowly, heart fluttering wildly, trying desperately to remember Brian's room number, when a loud thump rattled the door to her right. She jumped back and slapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a cry.

_Oh, Jesus, please, please. _She pulled her hand away and licked her lips, eyes searching frantically up and down the hallway._ 218! It's 218! _The room number flashed in her mind and she turned and dashed down the hall, deftly leaping over two bodies before coming to a sudden stop before her brother's door.

She turned the knob and stood in the threshold, bow ready, arrow nocked. The room was empty.

Quickly closing and locking the door behind her, Afton pushed a nearby desk over to block it, then looked around the room. A twin bed was tucked in the corner, covers still impeccably made. A chest high dresser sat next to the solitary window and the door to the closet of a bathroom stood open. She turned to the desk. An old photo, faded and dog-eared on one side lay on the ink blotter beside a closed laptop. She picked it up and walked back across the small room to sit on the bed.

She lay on her side and curled up on the firm mattress, staring in disbelief at the picture. Brian and Paul, beaming from ear to ear and sitting side by side at their first Braves game, with Dad next to them, and a very young Afton in his lap, smiling the almost toothless grin of a seven year old. She was holding up a gigantic catcher's mitt, proudly displaying her first fly ball. _How long ago was this? Almost fifteen years? _ And she still remembered it like it was yesterday.

Grief, cold and brutal, overwhelmed her and she couldn't help but cry. Cry for her dad and Paul, taken so viciously; cry for Brian, lost, maybe forever; cry for this fucked and broken world; cry for everything she had sacrificed, including and especially Daryl. A man she had known for so little time, but had felt more with than she ever had or ever would with anyone.

Fat, hot tears streamed down her face, splashing Brian's comforter. She turned the photo, hoping to see if the exact date had been marked, and sat up suddenly. She quickly wiped the tears from her eyes, trying to bring the words on the picture into focus while choking back sobs.

_Paul,_

_I know by now, you've found that the messages sent out by the media were total fucking lies. Please be careful, keep your guard up, and always keep Afton and Dad close. Know that I'm safe. The few of us that are left are going into the city to help clean up some of this mess, and I don't know if I'll be able to come back to base. But please, whatever you do, don't stay there waiting for me. Remember the Eastpoint Tavern we went to last summer? A few friends of mine said it would be a good meeting place and they were going to secure the building. When I get out of Atlanta, I'm heading there. Leave the base as soon as you can and meet me. I love you guys and hope I can see you soon. _

_-Brian_

Afton ran her fingers gingerly down the roughly scrawled letters and read the words again. She distinctly remembered the pub; it wasn't more than a couple miles south of here.

She stood, wiping a few stray tears from her cheeks and turned to her bag on the bed, carefully placing the photo in a zippered pocket. Anxiety unexpectedly bloomed in her heart. What if Brian wasn't there anymore? What if he never even made it there? What if _she_ couldn't even make it there? Daryl spoke up, firmly, bluntly, as always: _Damn it, girl, stop with the fucking 'what if's' and get your ass movin'! _

Afton straightened and ran her hand down her face, scrubbing away the last of her tears. She secured her backpack and quiver over her shoulder and picked her compound bow up off the floor before moving to the desk blocking the door. She put her hands on the edge to push, but stopped short when she heard harsh shouts from outside Brian's window.

She crept across the room and peered through the glass. Two men stood on the grass in the courtyard below: one, tall and lanky, wearing a dirty muscle shirt and baggy black pants, was grasping a 9mm pistol. The other, not as tall, but hulking nonetheless, was in a black shirt and cargos, with a black bandana wrapped across his forehead. He stood gripping a semi-automatic shotgun. Neither were pointing the weapons at each other, but they seemed to be in the middle of a heated discussion, spoken entirely in Spanish. From the looks of things, they were arguing over which direction they should be heading. It had been awhile since high school Spanish, but Afton thought she heard 'medcinia' and 'arsenal' in there somewhere.

She backed away from the window slowly, not wanting to be caught in the middle of their disagreement, whatever it might be.

She moved the desk from the door and stepped back into the hallway, trying to get her bearings. The front door was no longer an option, not with a Walker mob waiting behind it. There were a couple fire exits, but which ones wouldn't dump her right in front of the men arguing outside?

Turning left, she walked down the hall, the opposite way she had come. She followed the corridor to a stairwell and took the dim steps to the first floor. Light shone through a small window on a fire escape door to her left.

Afton stepped to the door and looked through the glass. The yard was clear. She opened the door slowly and walked out into the strong afternoon sunlight, shielding her eyes against the instant glare.

A clammy, decaying hand shot out from under the bush next to her and grasped around her ankle. Afton yelped and looked down in horror and disgust at the Walker attached to her. She drew back and raised her bow, nailing the zombie in the head with one of her three remaining arrows. It immediately relaxed its grip before she yanked her foot away and pulled her arrow out of its skull.

A group of Walkers rounded the corner of the barracks three yards to her left and her heart dropped. _Runnin's gonna be the best choice here, darlin'_. She dropped her arrow in her quiver and dashed to the right, hoping to get behind the building and find a way out of this god-forsaken place.

She skidded around the corner and ran headlong into the man in the black shirt she had just seen from Brian's room. Her momentum propelled her forward and even though she tried to stop herself, she smashed into his chest then slipped backward, falling on her ass. He looked down at her, his shocked expression mirroring hers. She frantically started backpedaling away from him. He reached down, trying to grasp at her arm.

"Eh, chica, it's not safe that way!" Concern laced through his accent.

Afton scrambled to her feet, wrenching her arm from his outstretched hand. Her heart was beating a million miles a minute and panic fogged her brain.

"I have to find Daryl, I mean Brian. I… I have to find Brian and keep him safe," she shrieked walking away hurriedly with no particular direction in mind, only a strong desire to get away.

She felt strong arms wrap around her middle from behind, locking her arms at her sides. Terror seized her instantly. Her first and only instinct was to fight and she started kicking her legs out wildly.

"It is not safe that way, lady! Stop! I'm trying to help you!"

"Shit, Carlos! What the fuck is happening?" Afton heard another voice rushing up behind her, probably the taller man. Oh, God, how could she escape with both of them here?

She bucked and writhed, trying to free herself from Carlos' hold. His arms only seemed to tighten.

"Eh, _ese! _This crazy bitch is tryin' to run into a group of fuckin' Walk-"

Afton cut his words short with a backwards head-butt. The force of it sent her seeing stars and Carlos released her immediately. As soon as her feet touched the overgrown lawn, she put her hand to her head and tried to bring the world back into focus, but her knees suddenly buckled. The humid Georgia summer gave way to an enveloping, soundless darkness that she was helpless to avoid and she crumpled unconsciously to the ground.


	7. Chapter 7

The Walking Dead is property of its respective owners

_I own my OC Afton_

Daryl's finger twitched on the trigger of his crossbow. This shit was gettin' old really fuckin' fast. He held a steady mark on the back of the skinny little Mexican kid he had captured when their plan to get Rick's bag of guns had gone to complete shit. They had got the guns and this whiny brat, Miguel, but had lost Glenn to the fuckin' _Vatos_ gang in the process.

And now they were all standin' around like a bunch of idiots outside the entrance to the gang's warehouse while Rick and Guillermo flapped their gums at each other, tryin' to come to some sort of pussy-ass compromise. Wouldn't it have just been easier to load up with some heavy-duty firepower and blast their way past these fuckers? Then they could go in and get Glenn themselves. And if the _Vatos_ had already taken Glenn, who was to say they didn't have Merle hostage too?

Daryl's eyes narrowed and he looked at Guillermo. "You got my brother in there?"

Guillermo shrugged. "Sorry, fresh out of white boys, but I got an Asian. Interested?"

Rick looked down the barrel of his pistol at the leader of the _Vatos_ gang. "I have one of yours, you have one of mine. Sounds like an even trade."

Guillermo crossed his arms over his chest and held his ground. "Don't sound even to me."

Daryl rolled his eyes. Oh, Jesus, this was a monumental waste of fuckin' time. Time that could be better spent looking for Merle. Looking for Afton. His heart clenched painfully and he gripped the crossbow tighter. She was out there alone, and even though he knew she was perfectly capable of defending herself and she was the one that had forced him away from her, he still, _still,_ felt a strong, almost overpowering need to find her and protect her, at all costs.

As soon as they got done with this Mexican standoff bullshit and got Glenn back they could head over to the bar where Brian said Afton should be waiting. And wasn't that just fucking irony for ya? The man she had been on the hunt for was at _his _camp these last three days. It damn near broke his heart, though, seein' the look on Brian's face when he had told him that, no, Afton was not there with his brother or dad. Then Brian had done him the fuckin' honor of damn near breakin' his goddamn _jaw_ with a swift right hook.

"_How could you have just left her?" _Brian had shouted, standing over him, fists clenched at his sides. Daryl could only sit there on that abandoned office floor, rubbing his sore cheek. He had known that anger, had felt that anger himself when he had first learned that Merle had been left handcuffed to a pipe on a roof, and had felt it roll over into unmitigated rage when they had reached that roof, only to find Merle gone, his bloody, severed hand left behind next to a fucking _saw_.

Daryl blinked away the image and adjusted his grip on his crossbow. His gaze was slowly drawn to the pink fletch Afton had given him, fluttering against the hard metal body of his Horton where he had attached it earlier that afternoon with a tiny bit of fishing line. The soft, flitting movements of the feather brought back such strong memories of her delicate, skilled fingers brushing along his jaw, tangling in his hair, gripping at his bare shoulders, that he had to physically shake his head to pull himself back to the here and now. He looked up from his crossbow to see Guillermo glaring at Rick.

"More to the point, where's my bag of guns?"

Rick took half a step forward. "Guns?"

"The bag we saw on the street; the bag Phillipé and Jorge were going back to get. _That _bag of guns."

Rick lowered his voice, but kept his gun leveled at Guillermo's chest. "You're mistaken."

"I don't think so," Guillermo retorted, shaking his head.

Daryl's eyes flicked back to Rick. He tried to concentrate on pushing down the irritation slowly building inside him. If all this talkin' didn't get done real soon, he'd be puttin' an arrow through the chest of each and every one of these clowns, fuck the consequences.

Rick cleared his throat, "You're mistaken about it bein' yours. It's _my_ bag of guns."

Guillermo barked out a short laugh. "The bag was in the street. Anyone could come around and say it was theirs. I'm supposed to take your word? What's to stop my people from unloading on your asses here and now… and I'll just take what's mine?"

Daryl watched Rick step back, and lower his pistol. "You could do that," they both glanced up to T-dog and Brian positioned on the roof of a building to the left, guns at the ready, "or not."

Guillermo's gaze shifted up to the men on the roof before he turned to look over his shoulder. "Hey, Carlos!"

Glenn appeared on the roof of the building in front of them, flanked by two burly Mexicans. His head was covered over with a cloth sack and when the men removed the bag, Daryl could see his eyes were wide with terror and his mouth was duct taped.

Daryl groaned. This shit was gettin' serious.

Guillermo stepped to Rick and looked him up and down. "I see two options: you come back with Miguel and my guns, everybody walks; or you come back locked and loaded and see which side loses more blood." He glanced up to T-dog and Brian before turning and walking into the warehouse, his bitch-ass cronies following on his heels.

The door slid shut and Rick turned to look at Daryl, just as Brian and T-dog walked up behind him.

Miguel began to whimper. "Please, guys…"

Daryl cut his words short with a slap to the back of the head. "I'm gettin' real tired of your fuckin' whinin'." He looked over at Rick. "We best figure somethin' out here. We need to get to lookin' for Afton."

Brian stepped forward, his amber whiskey eyes flashing intensely. "Daryl is right. The sooner we get to her, the better. We don't even know for sure that she made it to the Eastpoint. She might be out there alone."

Rick sighed and raked his hand through his hair. "Okay. Let's head back to that office and regroup."

Everyone, except Miguel, nodded their agreement. Daryl disengaged his crossbow and grabbed the kid by the elbow, leading him back to their little base, with the rest of his group following.

/

Daryl watched, disbelieving, as Rick picked the duffle bag of guns up off the floor of the office and slammed it on the desk before him.

"Shit," Brian murmured, standing wide-eyed next to Daryl.

"Guns are worth more than gold. Gold won't protect your family; put food on the table. You gonna give that up for that kid?" Daryl asked, one eyebrow cocked. Glenn was a valuable asset to that group, he knew that, but what was the sense in giving up their weapons, in risking their lives?

Rick began to shake his head, but T-dog put up his hand.

"If I _knew_ we'd get Glenn back, I might agree. You think that _vato_ across the way's just gonna hand him over?"

Miguel, sitting in the corner of the room sulking, jerked his head up. "You callin' G a liar?"

Daryl stepped over to him and slapped him upside the head. "You a part of this? You wanna hold onto your teeth?"

Miguel pouted and rubbed at his temple as Daryl turned back to the desk.

T-dog looked from Daryl and Brian to Rick before asking, "The question is, you trust that man's word?"

Daryl crossed his arms over his chest. "No, question is, you willin' to bet on it? Could be your life. Glenn worth that to you?"

Rick picked his pistol up off the desk and checked the clip and safety before settling it into the holster at his hip. His pale blue eyes met Daryl's.

"What life I have, I owe to him. Me and Brian both."

Brian shuffled his feet and looked at the floor.

"We were nobody's to Glenn, two idiots stuck in a tank. He could have walked away, but he didn't. Neither will I."

"So you're gonna just hand the guns over?" Daryl scoffed, glaring at Rick.

Rick was digging through the duffle bag and abruptly stopped. He pulled his hands out and slammed them down on the desk, leaning toward Daryl. "I get it, okay? I _know_ you need to find Afton. Hell, I would feel the same fucking way if it was Lori. But Glenn needs us too."

He leaned back and pulled in a deep breath before continuing, "There's nothing keeping you guys here. You are welcome and encouraged to leave, but me? I'm taking these fucking guns over to the _Vatos_ and I _will_ get Glenn back. Guillermo said locked and loaded, right?" A small smile hinted at his lips as he looked to the men standing before him.

A broad grin spread across Daryl's face. "Fuck yeah, 'locked and loaded'!"

He reached in the bag and pulled out a long-barrel rifle just as T-dog and Brian began rummaging for their own weapons and ammunition.

Miguel stood quickly, about to protest, but Daryl silenced him with one glaring look. "This is how this is gonna go down, kid: we gonna tape your hands before we head over there, just in case you get any bright ideas, then once we get there, we'll see if Guillermo's in the mood to play nice."

Miguel began to whine again. "Guys, this is nuts! Just do like G says!"

Brian held up a long piece of cloth toward Daryl. "Gagging him might be a good idea if we don't want his loud-ass mouth attractin' any Walkers."

Miguel stared angrily at a blank office wall as Daryl taped his hands together behind his back and tied the gag over his mouth. _And miracle upon fucking miracles, he stayed quiet!_ Daryl chuckled to himself as he strode to the desk, picking up his rifle.

/

The walk back to Guillermo's warehouse was eerily silent, but thankfully uneventful. Daryl kept his gun trained on Miguel's back the entire time, the other men covering him with their stash of weapons. Rick trailed the group carrying the rest of the guns in the duffle bag slung over his shoulder. When they finally arrived in front of the building and the door was rolled open, Daryl pushed Miguel in before following into the shadowed and dank coolness of the _Vatos_ hideout.

Daryl's eyes slowly adjusted to the darkened room as the door was shut behind them. He was greeted by the sight of a group of at least thirty Mexicans, heavily armed and aiming at each man in his group.

Rick stepped forward to Guillermo, his shotgun pointed at the _Vatos'_ leader's heart.

Guillermo glance down at the weapon, a look of indifference smoothed over his face. "I see my guns, but they're not all in the bag."

"That's because they're not yours. Thought I mentioned that," Rick replied tersely.

Phillipé rushed forward, gun drawn. "We should shoot these fools right now, _ese_. Unload on their fuckin' asses!"

Daryl held his rifle tensely in the crook of his shoulder, his eyes darting around the room. They were obviously outnumbered, and if this shit went down how he was predicting it would, he'd sure as shit be going out in a blaze of fuckin' glory. His only regret, in a life that should have been full of them, was that he'd never see Afton again, never feel the silky fall of her raven hair against his fingers, never breathe in the sun-warmed scent of magnolias drifting from her skin. He looked down at the barrel of his rifle, alarmed to see it tremble slightly. He pulled in a deep breath and steadied the gun in his hands, just as Rick pushed Miguel toward Guillermo, pulling out a pocketknife. He cut the tape from the kid's hands and shoved him forward.

"You have your man. I want mine."

Guillermo pushed Miguel behind him toward Phillipé. Fuming, he stepped to Rick, their faces inches apart. "I'm gonna chop up your boy, feed him to my dogs. They're the evilest, nastiest, man-eatin' bitches you ever saw. Picked 'em up from Satan at a garage sale!"

"You said come locked and loaded." Rick stepped back, shrugging. "Okay then, we here!" he growled bringing his hands up to level his shotgun at Guillermo's head.

The room was suddenly filled with the sharp echoes of guns being cocked.

Daryl sighted his rifle at Phillipé, fully intending to blast the fucker away at the slightest movement.

The edgy silence was suddenly broken by the strained shout of an old woman walking into the middle of their standoff.

"Phillipé?" she cried, limping toward the group.

Daryl watched, unblinking, as Phillipé turned to the woman. "Go back with the others, now!" He tried to gently push her back the way she had come, but she resisted him.

Daryl moved his gun away from the woman and Phillipé. "Get that old lady out of the line of fire!"

Guillermo laid a hand on the woman's shoulder and looked in her eyes, coaxing her, "_Abuela,_ listen to your _mijo,_ okay? This is not the place for you right now."

The woman turned to Phillipé. "Thomas is having trouble breathing. He needs his asthma medicine."

Phillipé grabbed her hand and began to lead her away, but she pulled it free and marched over to Rick and Daryl, standing in the middle of the group.

She jabbed a finger at Rick. "Don't you take him!"

Rick let his gun hang limply at his side, looking every bit as confused as Daryl felt. "Ma'am?"

"Phillipé is a good boy. He has his trouble, but he'll pull himself together. We need him here," she pleaded.

Rick sighed and looked down at her. "I'm not here to arrest your grandson."

The woman furrowed her brow, puzzled. "Then, what do you want him for?"

Daryl held his breath, waiting for Rick's answer.

Rick pushed his sheriff hat up off his brow. "He's helpin' us find a missing person. A fella named Glenn."

"The Asian boy? He's with Thomas. He needs his medicine." The woman grasped Rick and Daryl by their hands and began to lead them through the stunned _Vatos._.

Guillermo shook his head before conceding, "Let them pass."

The crowd parted and Daryl and Rick walked toward the back of the warehouse holding the woman's hands with T-dog and Brian following close behind.

Searing Georgian sunlight momentarily blinded Daryl as they walked through a door in the rear of the building. He squinted his eyes and let Phillipé's grandma lead him across a grassy courtyard to a large white building adjacent to the warehouse. A high, reinforced fence surrounded the yard between the buildings and a few old people were milling around on the lawn, seemingly unaware of the horrors just beyond the enclosure.

The woman walked with Daryl and Rick into the building, then gently dropped their hands when Phillipé stepped through the door behind them. She latched onto her grandson's arm and they walked on ahead quickly down a long hallway.

T-dog and Brian appeared behind Daryl and Rick with Guillermo and they all began walking down the quiet corridor together.

Daryl stared at the passing rooms in utter disbelief. Each contained a hospital bed, some empty, some not; a few were even well stocked with medical supplies. The _Vatos_ were effectively running a goddamned hidden retirement home.

They were close to reaching a large, open gymnasium at the end of the hallway, when the door they had passed through moments earlier crashed open, shattering the previous calm.

Daryl and his group quickly turned, their guns drawn. A large man wearing a black shirt, pants, and bandana rushed in through the entranceway and held the door back. He looked positively fucked up with a garish deep purple bruise running across the bridge of his nose and dried blood trailing from his nostrils and down his chin. He was shouting frantically in Spanish.

A woman wearing dark green scrubs raced out of a room next to Daryl and he watched, stunned, as she ran down the hall toward the commotion. He walked forward cautiously, ready for whatever might come through that door.

A tall, skinny kid burst through the doorway cradling an unconscious woman in his arms. Her inky black hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, and a few stay wisps were plastered across her sweaty forehead.

Daryl's heart dropped down through his stomach and he broke out into a full run down the hallway, tossing his rifle to the floor.

"Afton?" he cried out desperately, reaching his hands out for her as he came to the end of the corridor.

A look of terror struck the face of the kid holding his Afton and he turned away from Daryl, hurrying into one of the empty rooms.

The woman in the green scrubs tried pulling Daryl back, and he roughly pushed her away. He heard Brian and T-dog and Rick running up behind him, but they sounded far away, unimportant.

He turned and rushed through the door that the kid had taken Afton into, just as he was laying her limp body on a hospital bed in the middle of the room.

Daryl began stepping to the bed, tears welling in his eyes, panic stabbing at his heart. The kid held his hands up in front of him. "Look, man, I don't want no trouble. I'm just tryin' to help her."

"The fuck you don't want trouble!" Daryl shouted, brushing past him. "What the fuck happened?" He slowly sank down on the side of the bed, pulling Afton's hand into his own. He leaned toward her and gently brushed her hair away from her forehead.

The kid backed toward the door and began rambling. "She was bein' chased by Walkers. Me and Carlos tried to help her, but she was actin' crazy, man. Carlos grabbed her and she whacked her head against his nose real hard. I think it knocked her out. So we picked her up and brought her here." He stopped abruptly, gasping for breath.

Daryl hadn't taken his eyes off of Afton. He had begun tuning out the kid's words almost as soon as he had started talking. He brought his trembling hand up and began caressing her cheek. "Afton? Can you hear me?"

Brian burst into the room and rushed to the bed. "Is she okay?"

Daryl tore his eyes away from Afton's face reluctantly to look up at Brian. "I think so." He swallowed hard. " I fuckin' hope so." His heart was racing so fast it was fucking painful.

The woman in the green scrubs walked through the door, carrying a wet rag and a stethoscope. She handed the rag to Daryl and held the stethoscope against Afton's chest.

"You gonna be in here, you gonna help, okay?" the woman snapped at him. Daryl nodded and began wiping the cool rag across Afton's forehead. Her eyes slowly fluttered open, and she looked around the room, disoriented.

Daryl froze, his pulse thundering in his ears. Afton turned her head toward him and her warm whiskey eyes suddenly cleared.

"Daryl?" she shrieked. She sat up abruptly and flung her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him off the bed.

He wrapped his arms around her fiercely, pulling her onto his lap. "Shit, baby, I didn't think I'd ever see you again," her murmured, burying his face against her neck.

She pulled back from him, sniffling, and framed his face with her hands before pressing a kiss to his lips. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she sobbed, feathering kisses to the corner of his mouth, his chin, his lips.

Brian cleared his throat behind them. Afton peeked over Daryl's shoulder and her eyes went wide at the sight of her brother. She scrambled off his lap and tried to walk around the bed, but stopped suddenly, weaving, putting a hand to her head. Daryl jumped up to steady her.

The woman in the scrubs walked over and set a hand on Afton's shoulder as Brian rounded the foot of the bed. "You might have a concussion. You should lay down and try to rest."

Afton smiled sweetly, but shook her head. "I'll be fine." She stepped to Brian and was enveloped in a tight embrace. She looked up at her brother, tears tracking down her cheeks. "Dad, and Paul…" she began, but Brian pulled her in for another hug and kissed the top of her head, tears glistening in his eyes.

"I know," he choked. He pulled Afton back and turned her toward Daryl before walking quietly out of the room.

Afton curled against Daryl's chest, sobbing. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and looked up to see T-dog standing in the doorway. "We found Glenn in the gym. He's fine. Rick's gonna have a talk with Guillermo before we take off."

Daryl nodded and walked Afton over to the bed. He sat down next to her as she began wiping the tears from her cheeks.

She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "How are you even here right now?" She chuckled bitterly, "How am _I_ even here right now?" She glanced down at her lap as Daryl laced his roughly callused fingers with hers. "I thought you were tracking that deer to take back to your family."

Daryl tightened his fingers around hers. "What family I had is gone now." He blinked back tears and looked at her, his voice unsteady. "You're all I have left in this fuckin' world, darlin'."

He pulled his fingers free to gently cup her chin and pull her lips to his. He could taste her tears in the kiss, could taste his own. Loss, devastation, reunion, completion. He pulled her in closer and the kiss deepened, spilling a surprising sense of hope into him; a feeling that had been so rare and fleeting in his fucked up life.

Daryl pulled back, trying to catch his breath, just as the tall, skinny kid walked into the room carrying Afton's backpack and compound bow. He brought them over and set them on the floor by the bed before turning to leave.

Afton stood and reached out to touch his arm. The kid stopped and stared as she rose up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you," she whispered.

He blushed furiously before nodding and briskly walking from the room.

Afton turned back to Daryl, a smile curling at her lips as she smoothed her hair back and began pulling it into a ponytail. She winced as she tightened the band at the back of her head. Daryl brought his hand up and covered his fingers over hers curling around the ponytail.

She arched an eyebrow at him questioningly.

"I like it better down," he drawled softly, slowly pulling the band free. Her hair fell down around her shoulders and she smiled. Daryl ran his fingers through the strands and smoothed an errant lock behind her ear before bringing his lips down to hers.

A tentative cough and knock at the door stopped the kiss from deepening. Daryl turned to see Rick standing silhouetted against afternoon sunlight, leaning against the doorframe. His duffle bag was secured across his chest, sheriff's hat held before him. He walked into the room, hand stretched toward Afton.

"Afton, I'm guessing?" he asked, shaking her hand.

She looked from Daryl to Rick and flashed that sweet smile again. "In the flesh."

Rick grinned and settled his hat back in its rightful spot. "If you're feelin' okay, we should get goin'." His gaze shifted to Daryl. "Everything's sorted out with Guillermo, but we need to be headin' back to that office to gather up any supplies we left there, and get back to camp. I don't feel comfortable being gone from there so long."

Daryl glanced out the window next to the bed. "Yeah, it's gonna be gettin' dark here soon." He looked to Afton, searching her eyes. "Will you come back to camp with me? Seein' how we have Brian all safe and sound now?"

She grinned wide and smacked a kiss to his cheek. "You bet your ass I will, cowboy!"

/

After handshakes and guns were exchanged, they set off to the office room that had somehow become their temporary base of operations, Afton with a pocket full of ibuprofens and strict instructions from Ms. Green Scrubs to 'take two every six hours, and make sure you get plenty of rest!'.

They arrived at the office with the last of the afternoon's failing light casting long shadows through the blinds. Daryl placed his rifle in Rick's duffle bag, choosing instead to carry his crossbow.

Afton was braiding a small section of her hair and looked over as he was settling it across his shoulder. A small, knowing smile lit to her lips. She walked to him and slowly reached her hand out to finger the pink feather tied to his bow.

Daryl slipped off the crossbow and set it on the desk next to him. He pulled a small knife from his pocket and cut the fletch free. He held it up between his fingers and watched as a pained expression clouded Afton's amber-whiskey eyes.

"Daryl, I…" she began.

He looked at her frankly. "You did what you had to do. I ain't blamin' you for a damn thing, darlin'." A sly, crooked grin spread across his face. "But seein' as how you're here with me now, I won't be needin' this to remember you by."

He reached up and tied the feather to the end of the braid framing the side of her face and let his touch linger against her hair as he tucked it behind her ear.

Daryl stepped back to look at her and was suddenly overcome with a disturbing and unwelcome sense of foreboding. He cleared his throat and quickly grabbed his crossbow.

Rick stood at the doorway to the office, duffle bag across his chest, shotgun in his hand. "Alright, if you're all ready, let's move out. Remember to keep your guard up. The truck is about five blocks east of here and we'll be there in less than ten minutes if we just keep movin'."

/

The group was about two blocks from the truck when they came across the first Walker they had seen all afternoon.

Everyone in the group stopped. Rick looked over his shoulder at Daryl. "Gunfire may draw more. You do us the favor?"

"I got this one," Afton announced. She stepped forward, bow drawn, and skillfully dropped the Walker from twenty yards away. She began sprinting up the block toward the zombie to fetch her arrow.

Daryl was suddenly struck with an image from a dream; Afton's pink fletch tied into her braided hair, fluttering in a gentle breeze. A sick feeling of dread settled heavy into his stomach and he lurched forward, legs running as if on their own accord.

Time passed in slow motion. The clarity of the late Atlanta afternoon suddenly focused sharply before him and he could see it, could see it all happening, but could not fucking _stop_ it.

Afton bent to retrieve her arrow and as she turned back to the group, a proud smile gleaming across her face, a Walker, hidden in the passenger seat of an abandoned sedan next to her, rolled out of the open door and stumbled towards her.

Daryl cried out to her, his straining voice strange to his owns ears. He held up his crossbow as he ran to her, his beautiful, perfect Afton, and fired. The arrow flew through the air and slammed into the Walker's chest. It kept coming.

"Fuck, Afton, _run_!"

Afton's smile quickly faded and she began running forward, suddenly realizing what was behind her, but her sneakers caught on the Walker she had just taken out. The Walker behind her grasped her shoulder as she stumbled forward and yanked her back, tearing into her neck with ragged, decaying teeth, releasing a ruby shower of blood.

"Oh, Jesus! No!" Daryl pulled an arrow from his quiver and let his crossbow clatter to the street as he ran to her.

Afton had one hand clasped over her neck and was pushing the Walker back with the other.

"Motherfucker!" Daryl screamed, rushing up with his arrow in his hand. He grasped the zombie by its throat and drove the arrow through its clouded, dead eye. It slumped to the ground immediately.

He quickly turned to Afton and caught her on her way down to the asphalt. He gently sank with her to the ground.

The other men ran over, guarding against any other Walkers. Brian fell to his knees beside them. "What do we do?" he cried.

Daryl looked down at Afton cradled in his lap. She stared up at him, tears filling her eyes. "Oh, Daryl, how could I be so stupid?"

He choked back his own tears as he wiped away one of hers streaking through the blood smeared on her face. "Lemme see, darlin'." He gently pulled her bloodied hand from her neck and was helpless to stop a cry from falling from his lips.

Her skin was torn away, and she was losing blood, so much fucking _blood_. Someone handed him a rag and he tenderly held it against her neck, knowing it wouldn't stop the bleeding, knowing that it didn't matter.

He looked down at her, trying his best to smile, to put her at ease, unsure of what else to do. A tear slipped down his cheek.

Afton brought her hand up to his face. Her delicate fingers already felt cold against him as he closed his hand over hers. "Shhh, cowboy, don't cry, okay?" Her eyes started to slip closed.

"Stay with me, Afton. Please, don't go darlin', you're all I have left," Daryl pleaded, the pain of it breaking his voice, breaking his fucking heart. He laid a shaky kiss to her forehead.

Her eyes fluttered open and a weak smile slipped across her paling lips. "Take care of Brian for me, okay? And take care of Daryl, too," she whispered. "I love you both _so_ much."

"I love you too, baby. Please," Daryl sobbed, pressing a kiss to her lips as her eyes slid closed. Her body went slack in his arms, and he curled her to his chest, completely overcome with a grief so strong that he shook with the unstoppable force of his tears.

_This woman. _She had shown him that there was still a small sliver of humanity left in this fucked over world. She had not once judged him. She had loved _him_, Daryl Dixon, little hillbilly boy taught since childhood that he was unlovable. And now she was gone, ripped from him for the second time.

He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. Rick knelt down, his pistol held out to him. He stared at the gun blankly, tears running freely down his face, not understanding why the _fuck_ Rick was offering it to him.

He looked to Rick, then back to the gun. Realization crashed down on him forcefully, shattering the last remnants of his self-control.

"Get that thing out of my fuckin' face!" he shouted, pushing the pistol away.

Rick gently persisted, his hand lightly squeezing Daryl's shoulder, "I know this is hard, but it has to be done."

Daryl looked down at Afton, a sob hiccupping in his chest, and heard Brian weeping behind him as he slowly pulled the gun from Rick's hand.

He moved her gingerly from his lap to the deserted asphalt of Atlanta's I-20, and knelt over her, tenderly brushing that damn stubborn lock of hair from her eyes. He lowered his lips to hers, and a swell of agony washed over him anew. "I'm taking..." he stopped, pulling in a breath and wiping at his eyes, before beginning again, "I'm taking every fucking second I've been with you."

Daryl laid his palm gently over her forehead and put the pistol to her temple.

The sharp echo of the gunshot reverberated off of the concrete walls of the abandoned city, shattering, if only for an instant, the silence that had all but consumed the world of the dead.

Thanks for sticking through it with me, dear readers. I know this was a long chapter, but I felt that it needed to be finished all at once. I hope you liked reading it as much as I did writing it! Reviews are warmly welcomed.

_xoxo lopsided whiskey grin_


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